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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28082622">keeping the magic alive</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/treacherousdoctors/pseuds/treacherousdoctors'>treacherousdoctors</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Heartstopper (Webcomic), Solitaire - Alice Oseman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Christmas, Letters to Santa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:00:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,590</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28082622</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/treacherousdoctors/pseuds/treacherousdoctors</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>oliver has just found out that charlie, tori, and nick haven't written their letters to santa yet, and that simply will not do.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Charles "Charlie" Spring &amp; Victoria "Tori" Spring, Nicholas "Nick" Nelson/Charles "Charlie" Spring, Oliver &amp; Everyone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>keeping the magic alive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>iiiii wanted to write some lil christmassy things but i had no ideas so i found a random festive words generator, got "lists", and somehow managed to write ,,,,, so much Nothing</p><p>so enjoy ! i miss the spring family and i want them to have a better christmas than they did in this winter</p><p>(set a year after this winter)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Tori!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m going to walk out. I’m going to exit the house and never come back.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Toriii!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You have to answer him at some point.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Tori!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“He’ll never find me.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“We’re in my bedroom. He’s in your bedroom. You have about thirty seconds before he finds you.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Tori-ii-iii!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“This is the end.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tori’s door bursts open, and suddenly there’s a small boy, hopped up on sugar and somehow wearing two Santa hats at once, grabbing us both by the sleeves and pulling us downstairs. Tori looks at me pointedly, an expression of utter resignation on her face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kill me.” She mouths, and I have to stifle laughter before Oliver notices that we’re having a silent conversation above his eyeline. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He plonks us down in the conservatory, where Nick is sitting cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table. He’s a bit too tall to be sat where he is, and he looks very out of place in the as yet undecorated room with his light-up Christmas jumper and Santa hat (another of  Oliver’s unnecessarily extensive collection).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sit here! I’ll be back in one and a half minutes.” Oliver says, alongside an attempt at a stern stare. “I need to get my gel pens.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He trots back off up the stairs, and Tori groans as she collapses to the floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is the worst day of my life.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Merry Christmas to you too!” Nick grins, and I smile as I settle down beside him.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>seventeen</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’ll be eighteen in four months</span>
  <em>
    <span>. Why</span>
  </em>
  <span> does he have me writing a letter to Santa?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“He’s excited!” I try to defend Oliver’s plans for our morning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tori isn’t actually as bitter as this might make her seem. Despite evidence to the contrary, she adores Oliver, and she’s an excellent sister most of the time. Unfortunately though, it is 9:30 in the morning, and she fell asleep at 6. Oliver has little regard for sleep deprivation (because he’s eight, and I don’t think he knows it exists yet). All he cares about is this: it’s less than two weeks until Christmas, and he found out last night that the three of us haven’t sent Santa our lists yet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why does he need </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be excited, though?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It’s Christmas.” Nick smiles. “And he’s young enough that that’s still fun.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m not. Christmas is shit. I hate Christmas.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No, you don’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tori shrugs. I do actually feel a bit of sympathy - Christmas gets worse the older you get, and the more mentally ill your brother gets. I’m doing better this year, and I’m actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the spirit, but last year was so spectacularly shit that I don’t blame her for being wary.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I glance over at Nick, who makes eye contact with me and raises his eyebrow slightly. He looks back over at Tori with a knowing smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s eight. Chances are by next year he won’t even believe in Father Christmas anymore. Humour him today and you’ll probably never have to do anything like this again.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Tori pauses for a moment, seeming to mull that over. “Fine.” She murmurs flatly. “But if this happens again next year I’m going to throttle you, Nelson.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’d expect nothing less.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m back! What are we talking about? I wanna join in!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oliver plops down between Tori and me, dropping fistfuls of gel pens onto the coffee table and seeming not to notice or care when half of them roll off into Nick’s lap. I can practically feel him vibrating, and can already tell that The Emergency Christmas Sweetie Jar is going to need refilling before Dad gets the chance to stress over it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slides sheets of coloured paper in front of each of us, and Tori takes hers reluctantly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So what is it we’re doing?” I ask.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Lists! But you have to be really polite and remember to thank him for everything he does </span>
  <em>
    <span>before </span>
  </em>
  <span>you ask for anything, because otherwise it’s rude.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Ah,” Nick nods, “That makes sense. What are you asking for this year?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“If I tell you he won’t bring it!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Isn’t that only for wishes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oliver pauses, furrowing his brow and staring into space as if he’s trying to remember the answer to that, but after a few seconds he just shrugs and hunches back over his paper to start scribbling away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nick throws one arm over my shoulder and plants a kiss on the top of my head as he picks up a red pen, and I lean into him. I cast my eyes surreptitiously towards Tori, and it’s a pleasant surprise to see that she’s actually writing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The four of us stay like that for almost an hour, only occasionally speaking over the gentle hum of my ‘whamless festive bangers’ playlist to help Oliver with a spelling, or ask for the location of a different coloured pen. The energy is a bit lovely really, and even Tori seems to start enjoying herself once the weight of just having woken up lifts a little.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve finished!” Oliver chirps, folding up his paper and turning to face me and Nick. “Can you take them to the postbox on the way back to Nick’s?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Of course!” Nick smiles, taking the letter from Oliver. “Do you have an envelope?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Mum’s got some in the drawer over there!” He grins, pointing across the room. “Do we need stamps to send to the North Pole? Or do the post office work with the elves?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I think we need stamps, mate.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh.” Oliver deflates a little bit. “I don’t think I have any.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’ve got some.” Tori chimes in. “I got a book of them to send cards to my friends and then remembered that I don’t have any.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oliver leaps into her lap for a hug and she groans, mumbling a couple of complaints about how big he’s getting before pulling him closer and ruffling his hair with a smile. He takes her hand and starts dragging her back up to her room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nick pulls me in for a kiss once we’re alone, pulling back to smile sweetly at me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“`What did you ask Santa for?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>I nuzzle into his side. “Not much. New journal, bag of chocolate buttons, some earphones. I couldn’t really think of much.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Well, Santa should be able to work some magic.” He grins, and I roll my eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He plants another kiss on my forehead before rising to his feet and padding across the conservatory to the chest of drawers and picking up a bundle of envelopes. He sits back beside me and slides his letter into one, followed by Oliver’s. I put mine in one and reach across the table for Tori’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Glancing over towards the door to be sure she and Oliver are still upstairs, I unfold her paper. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I’m not a nosy person, and I’m not trying to invade her privacy at all. But… it’s not as if she’ll have taken it seriously, and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>want an idea of what goes through her head sometimes. From the corner of my eye, I catch Nick watching me, but he doesn’t say anything to discourage me from reading her letter, which I take as a good sign - he’s generally pretty good at steering me away from my worse ideas.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Santa,</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have no idea what to ask for this year. I have no idea what to ask for any year. The problem with being almost-an-adult is that nothing is interesting anymore and it’s impossible to like anything. Maybe that’s just a problem with me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’d ask for a better sleep pattern and for Oliver to stop waking me up at hell o’clock in the morning, but I think that’s beyond the realm of possibility even for a magic man, so that’s out of the question.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please just make this Christmas better than last year. Get Oliver everything on his list and let him keep believing in magic (preferably without including me). Get a cure for insufferability for my extended family, and if it’s not too much trouble maybe get me a new phone charger that works without having to hold it at a specific angle.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cheers,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tori Spring.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face as I refold it and shove it in the envelope.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That good, eh?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Pretty good.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“She didn’t tell Santa to fuck off?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Surprisingly not.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’ve got staaaaamps!” Oliver squeals, running back into the room and collapsing to the ground beside us, eagerly holding out the book.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We paste stamps onto all four envelopes (which I can see in Tori’s eyes is somewhat heartbreaking, considering they’re 76p each and the three of us are old enough to know they’re not travelling any further than the local post office) and help Oliver to print Santa’s address as neatly as possible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oliver follows us to the door as Nick and I bundle up to leave. He reaches up to my shoulder, pulling me down to whisper in my ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Make sure they get there super safely.” I’m not 100% sure why that’s a secret, but he continues whispering. “I made important wishes this year.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Okay!” I whisper back. “I promise I’ll be careful.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Snow is just starting to fall as we leave the door, and Nick takes my hands in his gloved ones. I turn back to the house for a short moment as we reach the corner of the street, and see Oliver watching attentively from the living room window. Then, casting my gaze upwards, I realise Tori is watching too.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i hope this was alright ! it's a little while since i've written anything and this is ,,, far from my best work but hey ! christmas :^)</p><p>as always, my tumblr is @charliespringverse if you ever want to talk/request anything/etc :^))</p></blockquote></div></div>
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